Speechless
by xGolden.Slumbersx
Summary: All hell breaks loose when Clarice takes a trip to Spain to find Dr. Lecter. Starling is brutally attacked and she falls in love. While Dr. Lecter is being pursued by two FBI agents; One favorable, the other deadly.
1. Lonely Hostility

_**I do not own anything. These lovely characters belong to their creator, Thomas Harris.**_

_**The first line is taken from Lady Gaga's song "Monster". Only she says boy, instead of man.**_

_That man is a monster; he ate my heart._ Clarice's mind whispered, recalling that night in the lake house. That night would forever be etched into her mind; a craniotomy performed in front of her drugged lamb's gaze. A dark force inside of her knew that bastard Krendler deserved what he received. That darker side had been strangely attracted to Lecter's cruelty, to the monster inside of him. His monster beckoned to the growing one inside of Clarice's being. A strange form of lust, infatuation, and admiration had developed for the madman that night. She hoped those feelings would disappear as she stayed away from Lecter, but they only grew agitated. The monster growing liked the full-fledged Monster in front of it, and wanted more.

She gritted her teeth in irritation. She hated having these kinds of feelings and thoughts. There is a good & evil inside of everyone. After the mistreatment from all of those around her, the malevolence inside had began to grow, just wanting to be free as a viper. Perhaps Lecter sensed her growing agitation at that world. Was that why he has sacrificed his own hand, instead of hers? Maybe he wanted that fiend of anger to flourish, so that one day when they were reunited he wouldn't have to worry about being re-incarcerated. They could live happily; well whatever is "happily ever after" for a monster couple.

"No!" Clarice screamed into her silent bedroom.

She swiftly flung her ivory pigmented feet onto the wooden floor, and rushed into the bathroom. Just to release the rage she slammed the door; though no one lived with her that could possibly intrude. She stood in the middle of the bathroom, staring at her reflection. Her usually porcelain cheeks & face were flushed bright with crimson rage. She didn't look quite like a monster. _But neither does that dashing "monster"._ An evocative whisper cooed; a whisper that sounded quite like the Doctor. Those six words echoed through her head, leaving her feeling paralyzed.

She shook off the paralysis, feeling the anger swell up in her chest once again.

"Goddamn you Jack Crawford!" She screeched like a banshee, still gazing at her glass manifestation. "Because of you, you old croon, I met that damn Doctor! Now look at me you bastard!"

She continued her screaming rage, letting it all wash out. Just like you let the dam break, letting the hostile liquid rush through. After her tumble of obscenities toward the "old croon" washed away with the rest of the verbal river, a lengthy, exhausted sigh escaped her coral lips.

Her throat ached with a burning pain. Like someone had magically administered a dose of strep throat to her esophagus. She stepped toward the white sink & her manifestation. Her eyes left the mirror, to gaze at the sink; not wanting to look at herself. She was deeply ashamed of her childish rage & screeching. She lowered her head toward the sink, turning on the cold water. She cupped her hands, letting the icy water form a small puddle in her porcelain palm. She splashed the chilly liquid onto her flushed face & felt a breath stolen from her. She repeated the splashing process, until her face & palms were numbed from the frosty H2O. She turned the water off, returning back to her inviting bed, not once looking back at her glassy persona.

Her sleep was dreamless, which in her current state of mind was favorable to Starling. Her eyes fluttered open, as the bright Virginia sun streamed through her basic white drapes.

"I should just get black out curtains." She thought crossly, slight anger still noticeable.

But yet, does fury ever leave a neglected soul? Exhaling a long breathe, she swung her legs to the side of her double bed, her warm toes grazing the chilly wood. She winced at the cold, regretting her decision not to wear socks to bed last night. Ignoring the chill, she quickly padded into the bathroom; needing to empty her bladder. After relieving herself, she washed her hands, brushed her teeth and then hopped into a quick scolding hot shower.

The heat was a relief to her refrigerated toes, but the rest of her temperate body complained. Stunning crimson blotches formed on her ivory skin, making her look & feel like a steamed & ready to serve Maine lobster. Our steamed ex-special agent, quickly dressed in undergarments, a forest green cotton turtle-neck sweater, matched with a pair of jeans that accentuated her hips perfectly, and white ankle socks. Still feeling steamed she made her way downstairs. Her new house was very small; two stories, one bedroom, one bathroom, a small living room, and a grand kitchen. The kitchen was the largest room in the house. She didn't have much use for a large kitchen, but the rent was cheap so she didn't complain.

She was living off the rest of her FBI money, while working as a hotel maid making about $10.50 an hour. From what she gathered from the other chamber maids, they only made $7.50, which made her think the management took a fondness to her. Though she would much rather drag his face through gravel & be fired, she couldn't afford to do so. Her plans were to join something in psychology, or perhaps be hired as a criminologist in a police department. She had checked into being the criminologist at a local police department, but hasn't heard back from them yet. The local police department wasn't going to hire her, she knew it. She has been too shamed by the FBI for any police department to want her. Perhaps she could go onto teaching at a university? Or perhaps teach at a high school?

Placing both hands to her temple, she applied a rubbing pressure, feeling a headache come on. This was too much stress for her all at once: She had witnessed a crass craniotomy & the dismemberment of a hand. She's been fired from the job she loved, just thrown away like a piece of white trash; thanks to the late Agent Krendler. Her anger was getting much worse. She had to work like a mule on a farm just to get by, barely making rent, let alone groceries.

She slammed her fists into the granite countertop, ignoring the pain, and just began to unpredictably weep. She slid down the counter, onto the pallid linoleum, uncontrollably sobbing into her bended knees. The stress of all the unwelcomed change was too much; even too surplus for our hard-hitting little Starling. Her hands were throbbing in a ruby pain, but she truly didn't care or really feel it. All she was preoccupied was with crying; and boy, did she cry.

Our little Starling wept, letting all the emotions just wash out. She felt light as a feather again, just like she was supposed to be; a swift, hard-hitting starling. A long exhale escaped the final release of the constrained emotions. She stood up once again, eyeing the clock above the kitchen sink; 11:20 it read. Her eyes widened, she was crying for almost any hour. She tucked that information away, not wanting to ever remember that had cried for such an extended period, crouched in a ball in the floor.

She heard the mail slot open, and then closed harshly. A single white envelope fluttered to the ground. She exited out of the kitchen, into the small living room, then to the front door. She eyed, the envelope, hoping it wasn't more hate mail. She had received quite a lot of it; blaming her for the untimely death of Krendler. Curiosity piqued, she bent down and picked up the eloquent envelope with a gentle hand. She turned it over to the front, nothing was on it. No return address, no name, just vast whiteness like an arctic plane.

She shrugged her sweater covered shoulders, going back into the kitchen. She sat at the cheap mahogany table, eager to open the strange letter. She pried it open with some un-needed force, ripping the envelope down the front, giving it an ugly scar. There were three pieces of paper, heavier than your normal computer paper. She opened them up, her eyes froze, her heart stammered; the face of recognition.

"Hannibal." She whispered, lightly tracing her fingers over the elegant calligraphy.


	2. Pleasant Invitation

**Clarice & Hannibal belong to the magnificent Thomas Harris.**

**Please review? I could always use constructive criticism.**

"_Hannibal." She whispered, lightly tracing her fingers over the elegant calligraphy. _

She shook off that feeling of, dare we call it; affection. She silently scolded herself for acting like a naïve school girl with a crush on the big, bad high-schooler. She flipped through the 2 and ½ pages, all of it writing. She fumed slightly, recalling Krendler's juvenile reaction to the beautiful sketch Lecter had drawn in his last letter. Pushing away the anger, she began to read the letter, which read:

_Dearest Little Starling,_

_Is life a bore without your beloved FBI spot to fill up your time? Hmm? Are you now forced to perform low middle class tasks, just to fill your ice box? Perhaps, a chamber maid?_

She angrily glared at the letter. She almost wanted to maul it into oblivion, but resisted the temptation. Her curiosity had held back her anger, for now. The letter went on:

_Oh, I bet that struck a nerve. How is your anger coming along now Clarice? Do you still see Agent Krendler's brain being fried like a divine piece of meat? Does Krendler often haunt you dreams Clarice? That is if you're dreaming anymore. Oh, you shouldn't let it ruffle your perfectly plumed feathers Starling. You know deep down that he __**deserved**__ it. He's just another waste of space, like most human beings. Don't you agree Clarice? An ordinary man would sell his soul for nothing but a buck and spend it on a fast food meal. Food & Money. Money & food. They just make this world go round. Gluttony & greed must have such fun with us. Oh, and throw in a dash of lust and you have a ravishing fiesta. When was the last time you took off the badge (which is no longer yours), threw the boxing gloves down, and had an old-fashioned swing-a-roo? I think it's time for you to let go of the FBI and all of its crass teachings. Why don't you live a little Starling? Visit a different country. Drink exotic mixed-alcoholic beverages. Dance with a ravishing man. Personally, I would suggest Madrid, Spain. It's absolutely exquisite this time of year._

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the letter. Was the Doctor implying that he had taken refuge in the gorgeous Madrid? _Is he prying into my desire to good right? _The Starling thought. _Perhaps he just wants to jerk me around. Maybe play a little game of cat & mouse._ She was at a loss of thought for a moment, so she continued to interpret _la carta._

_Come to Spain Clarice. What do you have to lose? The little chamber maid job. Oh, look Clarice you are after all falling into your mommy's footsteps. Now, now. Pay no attention to your fiery anger. Just look on the last page, you'll be in for a surprise._

"What?" Clarice asked out loud, slicing the silence like a knife severs the tender meat off a lamb's ashen bones. She looked at all the pages before, there was nothing, or so she thought. She dutifully obeyed the letter, flipping to the finale of the letter. Near the top of the last page was a blank check, signed off with a name she did not recognize. Her brows arched high with interest_. How the hell did I manage to miss that?_ She thought irritably. Under the check there was more of Lecter's calligraphy; hopefully explaining what the meaning of all this was.

_This is a blank check for you to fill out, so you can get all the money you need to come to Madrid. Yes, I am in Madrid, and I do expect us to play a little game of cat & mouse; you being the mouse, of course. At least for now. I will be watching, but I will not be discovered Clarice. I will reveal myself to you in due time. I suspect you are either coming here for one out of these two reasons: You want to capture me, so maybe momma FBI will pick you up and permit you to suckle once again. The second reason being, you just wish to see your old pal, since everyone else has left you. Knowing you, I presume the 1__st__ choice. Now, this check is "borrowed" from an old friend. He won't need the money in his account, but his widow may need some of it. So to ease your conscious, just take out a good $1, 500._

_P.S. I do hope you decide to come soon. I'm beginning to grow bored. Better catch the big, bad wolf before he gets away Clarice._

_See you soon,_

_H._

Clarice stared at the letter in disbelief. What was she going to do? No matter how much she hated the FBI and every damn soul in that place, she wanted to be constructive once again. Being a maid at a dreadful hotel just wasn't giving her what she needed. She wasn't a damn house wife for an excellent reason; she wasn't there to clean up someone else's clutter.

She abruptly stood from the table, going over to the off-white plastic phone hanging on the wall. She mindlessly dialed her workplace, saying she quit and hung up. She was going to Madrid to find Doctor Lecter and nobody was going to stop her or get in her way. She went back to the letter filling in the amount Lecter suggested: $1, 500. She signed her name, grabbed her coat and headed outside to her Mustang.

Starling exited the local bank with $1, 500 dollars, all in cash, stuck in her front pocket. She placed a metal clasp on the money, to help ensure its safety. She immediately made her way back home and started to pack. While she was out she checked the weather in Madrid at the moment; Sunny, without a raindrop in sight for several days. She packed about a week's worth, though she remained optimistic and believed she would have Lecter in momma FBI's firm grasp within a few days.


	3. Silent Preparation

**All characters belong to Thomas Harris.**

**I hope you enjoy & please review!**

_The Heart song "__**Alone**__" reminds me of Hannibal & Clarice._

_You don't know how long I have wanted to touch your lips and hold you tight.  
You don't know how long I have waited and I was going to tell you tonight.  
But the secret is still my own and my love for you is still unknown.  
Alone._

Our fierce ex-special agent immediately left her small home behind, going to the nearest airport. The airport reminded Starling of a beehive; plenty of mindless droning & chatting. She had her luggage gown through as well as her pockets. One of the guards found the mass amount of money in her pocket suspicious, but he didn't care much to question it.

With her luggage in hand, she approached the ticket counter. The couple in front of her was basically dry humping one another, while the hefty man in front of them complained to the ticket clerk about the prices. Clarice's hand clamped angrily down on the handle on her medium-sized suitcase, while her eyes blazed in fury. _Why don't these two horn dogs get a damn room? _She thought angrily, placing her other hand to her temples.

After a few minutes have gone by, the line still hasn't moved. Starling's auburn brow twitched viciously. She peered around the sickening lovebirds, to the sweating swine in a suit. He was still trying to get the ticket clerk to lower the price on tickets to Florida.

"Why don't you just drive down to Florida you fat, lazy oaf? Stop bitching at the clerk and make way for people who aren't penny-pinchers & have places to go!" Starling spat at the swine.

Her jaw was clenched, while nearby people mindlessly gawked at her sudden outburst. The hefty business man, blinked back at Starling, obviously at a loss for words. He quietly turned away from the angry ex-agent and paid for his ticket. The now disturbed couple, parted from one another, letting Starling go in front of them. She didn't thank them, just walked up to the counter and ordered the cheapest ticket available.

Her flight was due to leave within an hour and the ticket clerk (timidly) advised her stay within the area in case it should come early. She barely acknowledged the clerk's opinion and slunk off into the waiting area. She sat where there wouldn't be anybody sitting on either side of her. She didn't want to be around ignorant people; especially in her current state of mind.

Her flight had actually come 20 minutes early; which she was grateful for because that same couple was merely a few feet away macking on one another again. She exited the airport, approaching her plane. She made her way into the back of the plane, sitting by the window. She swore if anybody dared to sit by her, she'd shoot them. Starling sighed, putting her head back. Before she knew it, the plane had taken off into its 9 hour flight to Madrid, Spain. Starling had fallen asleep within the first 20 minutes of lift off. Hmmm. I wonder what, or whom she's dreaming about.

Madrid, Spain. 6:30 P.M (+5 hrs to current Washington, DC time)

Dr. Lecter sat with a smirk, eating his exotic Spanish dinner. He had calculated that Starling was due here in about 9 hours, give or take a few minutes. He figured he should head home soon, to go to bed early.

_Tomorrow was going to be quite fuuunnn_. He thought, his smirk turning sly.

He finished his dinner of Pescado Frito and Patatas Bravas (Fried fish & fried potatoes with spicy sauce). He wiped his glass clean of any finger prints, repeating his habits formed in Florence. He tipped the waiter generously, going on his way. He figured going to bed so early, was rather ridiculous, and resoluted to going to a local market.

He picked out some prime cuts of various meats, vegetables, and some fruits. He had decided on cooking for himself for a few days, not wanting to spend money on mediocre food. Memories from the night at the lake house had come flooding back on his walk back home. He gazed down at his hands; he had two. Oh, the marvels of modern medicine. He had gotten a prosthetic put in place, that looked actual natural. The doctor who performed the surgery was an organ trafficker on the black market. Doctor Fell (Oh, the irony) wouldn't be selling anymore organs.

He entered into his temporary home. He had been appointed Lead Director of a local museum of fine art, and was offered a house; free of charge & no paperwork. Oh, how you could not put a price on intelligence and charm. His temporary abode was two stories; main floor which housed his very grand kitchen, one full bathroom, & his own personal library. The library housed many books, numerous of which are near a hundred years old. Upstairs housed three bedrooms, his study (which contained many highly priced paintings, an elderly piano, additional number of books, and several statues sitting in the corners.), another full bathroom in the master bedroom, and half bathes in the other two bedrooms.

He placed his groceries on his stoop, pulling out a white handkerchief to wrap around the doorknob & house key; leaving finger prints were far too risky. After opening the door; this was prized as an antique to some of the art admirers. It was made from a rare, almost now extinct tree, which Hannibal seemed to have forgotten at the moment. He picked up his groceries, entered, and closed the antique with an jacketed elbow.

He entered into the kitchen, which was directly to his first right. He put all the groceries into the icebox, wiping down the surface of it with bleach. Even in his own home, he wiped where he touched. Visitors just assumed he had a disturbing case of germ phobia. He looked to the Roman numeral clock above the window, it was already 9:00 P.M. Understandable, it was easy to get lost shopping for high-quality food.

Before he began to wipe down all the counters with high-powered bleach & ammonia, he removed his elegant suit, polished shoes, crisp fedora, and changed into a plain, worn-out blue t-shirt and sweats; typical American attire. He filled a large, black bucket (it resembled a mini-cauldron) with bleach & ammonia. He wiped down all surfaces, quickly & efficiently. He was done with the entire down stairs at 9:45. He emptied the filthy water into the down-stairs bath tub. He rinsed out the bucket, and then placed it next to the commode.

Doctor Lecter turned all the down stairs lights off, and headed to bed. The upstairs reminded him of a long corridor, just like the one when he was down in the dungeon, expect less dreary and there were no rude remarks being spoken to a trespassing young Starling. Hannibal smiled at the thought, letting the memories flood his thoughts. Clarice was going to back on his radar once again, but he will not be on hers, for a while at least. He had to give her time to squirm a bit. Though he had admitted to loving the ex-special agent, he still needed his fixture of fun. Just when she least expected it, he'd be a blip on her sensitive radar.


	4. Bienvenido al paraíso

**Clarice & Hannibal do not belong to me. All credit goes to Thomas Harris.**

_Theodore is my character, who is going to play an important role in the plot, soon._

_Excuse the mistakes & please review._

_Yeah, yeah. There's not much romance between Hannibal and Clarice yet. Just be patient HxC fiends. _xP

In the semi-conscience state that exists between reality & the dream world, is where Hannibal occupied. In this state, he was calculating the approximate time when Clarice's plane would be landing. _3:15-3:45 A.M._ His mind whispered. His eyes fluttered open; appearing like radiating orbs in the wee hours of the morning. The Doctor did not a digital clock or watch by his bedside, like most people do. If he truly needed to know what time it was, He would venture down into the kitchen, which housed the Roman numeral clock above the sink. That was one of those "need to know the time" moments.

Hannibal stretched like how a cat would, while stifling a troublesome yawn. He flung his legs over the side of the bed, proceeding downstairs. He entered into his lovely kitchen, flipping on the light switch. The sensitive cells in his eyes reacted violently to the bright light, causing pain, but he did not care for what pain his eyes were in. It was 2:35 A.M, which the Doctor decided was enough time to get ready & then venture off to the airport. He needed to know where Starling was staying, so he could keep a watchful eye on her. Just like how an eagle, circles its unsuspecting prey from the safety of the skies; always having the element of surprise on its side.

Turning the kitchen light off, he slunk back into the darkness, venturing back upstairs to his bathroom. He showered, brushed his teeth, and emptied his bladder all in a time span of about 10 minutes; he was not going to let Starling roam around in a country she did not know without him to guide her in the proper direction. He exited the dark bathroom, into his bedroom with a beige colored towel wrapped at his mid-section. In front of his closet, his brow furrowed. He should have picked out the proper clothes last night when he had an appropriate amount of time to scheme, analyze, and prepare. He shrugged it off and began to fumble around in the closet.

He did not need lights to see that he had selected a pair of navy-blue denims & a coal hued T-shirt. He pulled out a pair of ordinary Niké running shoes & a boring grey cotton jacket from the closet, placing them with the rest of his "blending in" attire. He switched his towel for a pair of undergarments, quickly placing on the rest of his apparel. He finished off his look with a pair of inexpensive sunglasses and a cap with the name of a _fútbol _teamstitched above the bill. He took a quick gander in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. Then his _infamous _smirk appeared; that would give him away to anyone who knew him well enough. _Just keep the smirking under wraps, Doctor & you have nothing to fret. _His mind advised.

Hannibal exited to the downstairs. He placed his white handkerchief in hand, and then grabbed the door handle. He exited out into the dark early hours before dawn. Not quite yet twilight, but not entirely dark. He walked with plenty of purpose; he knew he didn't waste more than 15 minutes. The Doctor walked a few blocks, distancing himself from his home before hailing a cab. Some people called it being paranoid, he called it being careful. He entered into a cab, and paid the Taxi-man to quicken his pace. The driver nodded, and did what he was paid to do.

* * *

Clarice had slept the entire length of the trip. She didn't even so much as turn over when a toddler screamed his heart out because his mother wouldn't permit him to have candy. She did awaken when the pilots booming voice come over the intercom and commanded his passengers to fasten their seat belts for the downhill tumble. Without opening her eyes, she reached over to the crevice that housed the buckle, but instead of finding the cool, metallic buckle, she felt warm, clammy flesh.

Her eyes shot open and recoiled her hand instantly; as if she had touched a slithering serpent in her haven. She flashed a look at the owner of the clammy flesh, and stared for a moment. He was in his early thirties, with ocean-deep sea foam eyes, a physique that was intimidating to the wrong person, but inviting to the right person, topped off with a blonde military buzz cut. He looked like a meat head but his ocean-deep beauties betrayed him as alert & intelligent.

They both realized that they had been gawking at one another, and crooked away from each other. Starling cheeks flushed with embarrassment & slight attraction. She distracted herself momentarily, with finding the metal buckle once again. After hearing the reassuring click, she turned her attention to the window; desperately wanting to hide her moment of "weakness" from the _inviting _stranger.

Sensing the awkward air, Mr. Sea Foam cleared his throat and spoke. "I apologize for creeping you out or anything. I was just trying to buckle my seat belt." He paused a moment awaiting a response.

When he didn't receive a response, he buckled his seatbelt, and turned straight ahead. Clarice looked at him with her peripheral vision, seeing a hint of disappoint on his cute, baby face. She blinked, noting he had a resemblance to Paul McCartney: Pudgy cheeks, singing eyes, and if he were to smile, it would steal your heart.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first, without looking at her. "Aren't you the FBI agent who caught Buffalo Bill?" He asked, now looking at her with curiosity glimmering in his eyes. She felt her stone heart soften a bit. Though, she looked at him with an uninterested look; trying not to advertise the fact she had butterflies. There was only one other man who gave her butterflies, but she not dare even speak his name in her mind. She shrugged at his question and gave him a curt "Yes."

The plane had taken its decent from its high altitude, and they would be landing in a few moments. Starling turned her attention back to the window, thinking of how this trip was going to go. She was hoping her optimism, would be realistic; catch Hannibal quickly & then return to the states, to hopefully re-join the FBI. The plane had come into contact with the pavement abruptly causing Starling to hit her head off the window. She cursed loudly, causing people to stare at her. She returned their stares, with a threatening glare, placing a hand on the bump. The bump was already fairly large, and she predicted it would grow larger.

"You don't talk much, but boy do you curse like a sailor." The stranger sitting next to her said with a small chuckle.

Starling shot him an annoyed glare, and he responded with another chuckle. She exhaled angrily through her nose, and kept her gaze locked on the window. "You should probably get the bump checked out by a Doctor, or just put an ice pack over it, if you're too stubborn to admit defeat to a bump on the head." He teased and advised at the same time, with a smirk on his face. He had been around women like her day in & day out; he knew how they operated.

"Like I couldn't have figured that out by myself." She retorted, turning her fiery gaze to him.

He arched a brow, but kept his smirk. Boy was she feisty. "You know you don't have to disagree with everything someone says to you. But hey that's what you do. Is this your first time in Spain? Your face betrays you as uncertain." He stated his observations, curious in her answer.

"This is my first time in Spain. & if you ask why I'm here I will not answer because that's none of your business, sir." She said, keeping her gaze locked on him.

"Refusing to say the reason why indicates that you are here for pleasure. Nothing shameful in admitting that you need a break from a hectic life. Oh, and please don't call me sir. Just call me Theodore." He stated with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"You're wrong. I am here on business. My business trip is just my business, Theodore." She said his name with slight distaste. "I don't have a hectic life anymore, anyway. FBI cut me loose, which you know. People all across the world know that." She replied with a ringing sarcastic tone, assuming he already knew about her discharge. Nearly everyone knew that.

"I had no idea you were cut. No wonder you wish to get away from D.C." He suddenly stopped, listening to the pilot wishing the passengers a wonderful time, and they were free to patiently exit off the plane. Theodore unbuckled his seat belt and stood. Sitting down he appeared to be average height, but standing up his head touched the ceiling, making him at least 6'5. Starling hadn't expected him to be so tall, which caused her to gawk again.

"I'm surprised you don't comment by asking 'How's the weather up there?'" His voice full of heavy sarcasm, but a small smirk was present. He grabbed his bags, and began walking out.

"I don't do clichés. Originality is far more superior." Clarice whispered to herself, holding her head high. She got up from her seat and to the storage compartment above her seat. She looked in, and noticed her bag was gone. Her mouth hung a gap, and ran down the aisle, nearly tripping over a child. She got caught in a line of people departing from the plane, causing her to wait impatiently. Finally she was at the door, and bolted down the airplane steps. She pivoted her left & right, until she spotted Theodore; entering the airport. She gritted her teeth in anger, and practically sprinted toward the building.

Once inside, she was amazed at the number of people here, for it being three in the morning. She scanned the terminal, spotting the freakishly tall thief about two hundred feet away from her. She approached him quickly, obvious to people she had an agenda. Blinded by fury, she had passed Hannibal Lecter. Once close enough to Theodore, she began to forcefully speak.

"What is wrong with you? Why did you take my damn bag?" She furiously demanded. She wanted to smack him, but he was far too tall for her to reach.

Theodore stared at Clarice for a moment, and then busted out laughing. Clarice swore she felt the ground shake below her; but her face still remained etched with anger. "Agent Starling, you have caught me. You're a better agent than I thought. I presume it's the FBI's loss they lost you." He said, still smiling be seemed sincere. He handed her bag. "You should join me for coffee sometime. I know Madrid like the I know the Agility course back on base." He pulled a pen out of his pocket, wrote down his cell number, and placed it into her palm. "And I won't be offended if you don't call. I understand your pride Agent Starling." Theodore said, then turned tail and exited the terminal.

Clarice rolled her eyes at Theodore, and mumbled "Men." She walked right past Hannibal once again; she would be on his radar, but he won't be on hers. Hannibal watched Clarice exit the same way the meat head had. He followed her, in and out of buildings. She finally chose a hotel that was about 20 minutes away from his dwelling. He slipped inside the hotel after her; it wasn't as elegant as it appeared on the outside. She & the clerk traded comments, and then he happily announced her room would be 217 on the second floor. The Doctor received the information he had wished for, and slunk back out into the darkness of Madrid.


	5. Feeling Freedom

**Clarice & Hannibal belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Theodore a figment of my own imagination.**

**Review please. I could always use pointers & whatnot.**

_I'll never talk again  
Oh boy you've left me speechless  
You've left me speechless, so speechless  
And I'll never love again,  
Oh boy you've left me speechless  
You've left me speechless, so speechless_

**Those lyrics are where I got my story title from, which belong to Lady Gaga.**

Clarice stayed in her small yet cozy hotel room until her stomach growled warnings to her that it was well past breakfast time. Clarice padded over to the window, pulling back the curtains; the view was breath-taking. The sun had just begun its journey over the horizon creating the perfect contrast of sun orange and coal shadows. The street below her was crawling with all sorts of cars; sporty, flashy, classic, cheap and ordinary. She had never witnessed such a scene before. She felt like she had died and gone to a far better place than the earth she knew.

"No wonder you came here." She whispered, not even realizing she did so. She opened her window, letting in the morning smells venture & fill her hotel room. There was a gentle, refreshing breeze that brought in the all of the different smells from the streets below her; scents of breakfast, coffee, car exhaust, people, and just crisp morning air felt so refreshing to her restless, troubled soul. She inhaled deeply, wanting to savor this moment a little longer. She suddenly felt refreshed, no; she felt cleansed now. She felt all her troubles disappear for a few moments, letting the Spanish breeze lift off the weight from her tired shoulders; giving her a well deserved moment of absolute peace.

Feeling like a new other person, Starling stepped away from the window, heading toward the door. She snuck one more peek at the rising sun & all its kissed surroundings. Now at the door, she realized she forgot her shoes, as well as socks. She looked to her bare feet, noticing a white envelope tucked under her door. She picked it up carefully; as if it were a delicate flower that would crumble if too much force was applied to it. She un-tucked the envelope's tongue, to its white gaping mouth which housed a paper sea of green. _That's a lot of money. _She thought, her face betraying her as shocked & interested.

She forgot all about her growling stomach for now; It'd be back for another growling match soon enough. She sat crossed legged on the center of her double bed, emptying the contents of the letter; 15 American dollar bills and one piece of scented paper. Seeing the neatly folded piece of paper she forgot all about her donation. Gently, she unfolded the piece of paper, though it was heavier than normal paper. Upon its revealing, an odd yet soothing scent fluttered into her nostrils; which caused her to inhale deeply, basking in the lovely scents surrounding her.

With a sincere smile etched on her face she skimmed through the letter, she knew who it was from, but she was in a rare peaceful state, that not even a cannibal could ruin. He explained the Spanish currency to her; The Spanish used Euros, but still used pesetas if necessary. He had said that he had generously donated a whopping six hundred dollars to her, but it only came out to roughly four hundred and eighty Euros. She would need to go to a bank to get the U.S dollars converted into Euros. She gently placed the read letter on her night stand; while she placed the money back into the envelope and into her right jean pocket, covering her pocket with her blue t-shirt. She was hungry once again, so she slipped on socks and shoes, and exited her hotel room.

* * *

Phase one of The Doctor's plan went over better than expected; Clarice had no idea, well until she received his letter that was. The only thing he did not like, was that man who had distastefully captured Starling's attention by playing hide and seek with her possessions. Though Hannibal only had a few moments of observations he had gathered that Mr. Young & Rude, was egotistical and got off on angering strong women like Starling. His only goal was to sleep with them, and then leave them before their head's barely touched the pillow to slumber. Just thinking about that _child's_ flirting methods made Hannibal's skin crawl and the need to re-shower was over-whelming.

Shaking his head in disgust, he peeked at the clock; 7:35 A.M. He nodded, and then headed upstairs to re-shower. Since he was in no hurry this time, he stayed in the shower for nearly fifteen minutes; scrubbing off the disgust he had felt for that boy. Once satisfied with his scrub down, Hannibal decided he should get a few more winks of sleep. It was still quite early in the morning, an hour or two would leave him feeling revitalized and be ready for anything to come that could possibly happen today.

* * *

Clarice exited the hotel, as Hannibal's sleek head had hit his goose-down pillow. Clarice felt truly alive; not the kind of alive feeling you get when you're being shot at; the kind of feeling that makes you glad to be alive and you relish every breath you take. Starling hadn't felt this alive since childhood when she was by her beloved father's side. She had a small sincere smile on her plump lips; she was thinking about those days with her father. On normal day's circumstances, she would have pushed those memories far way, locked them behind a door, and then throw away the key out but now; she was embracing them. On this alien soil, she felt alive once again. She had almost forgotten why she had come here in the first place; to capture Hannibal.

Though she would love to feel this way every day, she knew that was impossible. What is life if there's no pain? These are the times, which you are supposed to cherish when times get rough in the real world. Besides, she couldn't live off of Hannibal's mysteriously obtained money forever; that would be the easy way to life, and she felt fulfilled after a hard day of work. Pushing away all thoughts, she focused her mind on picking a place to eat breakfast. She read the different Spanish titles bestowed on the multiple business establishments surrounding her; now wishing she paid attention to her rambling high school Spanish teacher.

Obviously baffled, she just sighed and walked into a building that read: El café. She knew "el" meant "the: and "café" was a cognate. It was a small, but charming family-owned café. When she walked to the counter, the manager smiled widely, and pleasantly asked what she wanted in spanish. She looked up at the menu; all of it in Spanish. She let out a groan, placing a palm to her forehead. The manager noticed her distress and laughed.

"Miss, I do understand English & we sell coffee as well as various other common American breakfast items." He smiled whole heartedly, the smile accentuated many years of laugh lines.

Clarice couldn't help put to smile at him; he was one of those friendly store owners's that you couldn't help but to love, who happened to have a contagious laugh and smile. She ordered coffee and a small, enticing Spanish pastry. She sat at a petite table, which had perfect view of the bustling street. As she contently stared off into space, and ate her pastry, Theodore happened to enter the café. He noticed her right away, but her mind was off in another world. He ordered his coffee black, then approached the unknowing Starling.

He tapped her on the shoulder, taking a step back so he wouldn't get hit. She turned calmly away from the window, placing her gaze on Theodore. He saw that the anger that was present only hours ago, had been replaced by pure serenity. He cocked his head slightly. _Was this the same fiery woman he had met on the plane? _He pondered, and then asked her if he could join. She gave a simple nod, turning her gaze to the pastry in front of her. She only had a bite or two left, which was gone by the time he managed to squeeze into the chair.

He smiled, noting how tranquil and beautiful she looked suddenly. She wasn't watching him (to his dismay); she was busy sipping her coffee, staring back out the window. He noticed the small, content smile that was still on her face. _Something amazing must have happened to her; she must have seen or done something miraculous. _He thought,very curious to what had calmed the fire within her.

"You seem quite different, Miss Starling. Before you seemed like you wanted to kill me, and throw my body to the dogs." He said, arching a brow; hoping that she would answer.

Starling's peaceful thoughts suddenly flooded with memories of Mason Verger & Hannibal. _Throw my body to the dogs_ rang in her head (a numerous amount of times), imagining Mason being eaten by his very own pets. It didn't really bother her much though; her thoughts were replaced with ones about Hannibal & their times in the dungeon and the lake house. Her smile widened, without her consent. Her memories were bloody, yet beautiful at the same time. Hannibal's idea of romance was a bit unorthodox, but they excited her all the same; which she dare not admit out loud. Being in this scenery has made her happy to be free, and she was finally admitting the truth to herself; she was attracted to the dangerous madman "Hannibal the Cannibal."

Theodore stared at Starling, shattering the glass of silence with a cough. Starling snapped back to reality, not even realizing she was lost in her own thoughts. Theodore looked at her curiously, but she didn't tell him what she was thinking, nor would she ever. She knew Theodore wasn't what her current taste in men where; dangerous & charming. Sure he was psychically attractive but there were a million guys just like him; egotistical, horny, & distastefully flirty. He was just a dull gold fish in a bowl of full other dull gold fish. She knew he was interested in her, but she would never be interested in him. Maybe she was attracted to men like him at a point and time, but she had a developed taste now; far too exquisite for Theodore to even imagine.

Starling excused herself from the table, and when he tried to stop her, she respectfully explained that she just wasn't interesting in meat-heads like him; he was just like every other guy she knew. She left Theodore with his jaw agape, and staring like a clueless child. He had been denied, which pissed him off more than anything. He clenched his teeth and hands, feeling the anger swell. He exited the café, obviously fuming. He walked in the opposite direction of Starling and said, low enough for his own ears: "You're gonna pay you bitch. You're gonna pay big."


	6. Greetings to Narcissism

**Clarice & Hannibal belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Theodore is my character.**

**Review please. I love everybody's input. **

Our narcissistic Theodore had taken a low-blow from the hard hitting Clarice Starling only hours before in a lovely café; now he lay in the comforting darkness of his hotel room, still trying to calm his battered nerves. He's been mumbling to his lonesome for several hours now; he was plotting and insulting Clarice in that scheming cranium of his. He pulled his bulky laptop from his large duffle bag, and powered it on. While he was waiting for his laptop to spring to life, he replayed his rejection over and over again in his mind. The replays were in perfect quality; the time had not eased the raw anger present or his moment of elimination from Clarice's scope.

The rage he felt toward Starling belonged to that of a rabid animal. The white hot anger, he learned, would only be satisfied if the ego-crusher has had violent revenge brought upon them. When they begged for mercy, just like how prey cries for the pain to stop, the beast feels almighty, almost godly. The thought of having control of weather they live or die, is purely erotic. Theodore's preference is to keep them alive so they suffer for the rest of their life; it teaches them to never reject or disobey a direct order from a godly beast such as himself.

After his laptop came out of its long slumber, Theodore opened up one of many, encrypted picture files hiding in his laptop's jungle of hard drive. His files were protected with passwords, fire walls, and lethal viruses, all to prevent meddlesome hackers from entering his beloved computer. If the content from these picture files were to be shown to anyone will a healthy conscience, Theodore would be immediately incarcerated.

These precious files contained nine rape victims Theodore has defiled in more ways than one. Theodore did not remember all their names; only his first, Vanessa Hopkins. Vanessa had been a fiery auburn who liked Theodore for his patriotism. Not a soul knew they dated; Hopkins kept everything hidden from her religious-extremist parents/friends, which was her downfall. If, she would have told her parent's or friends her boyfriend's name, eight other women could have been saved from Theodore's wrath. One day, Vanessa had denied sex to the beast, and it cost her everything; body and soul. Theodore dumped her body in the Mississippi River, washing away all evidence. She wasn't found until six days later after the dumping of her body; some her entrails, tongue, and both eyeballs were missing (breakfast to the hungry scaly residences of the vast Mississippi).

Theodore gazed at his suffering victims all entrapped in his computer's encrypted hard drive. He had 10 photos of each defiled women; all bound and gagged. He had them all in all sorts of different, sexual positions; all for his vile entertainment. He hadn't killed another one of his victims since Ms. Hopkins; he hoped they still were suffering. He looked at each picture studying them, _admiring them, _and of course, deriving pleasure from each photo. He loved their helpless, childish gazes; they looked so pathetic, like how all women should look at a man.

Theodore exited out of his personal "porn" and went internet surfing. He wanted to know if the press had any new dirt on him, or on his recent victim; that he had only raped five days ago. He typed "The Hopscotch Rapist" in a search engine, and plenty of news articles appeared, just about him. He laughed at their idiotic profiles and published articles. The FBI created a profile for him approximately three weeks ago, which he reads any chance he gets, in case of any updates. The profile stated he is white, single, largely buildt, late twenties to mid-thirties, had anger problems, and excessively narcissist. They also offered that he has most likely experienced psychical discomfort (Most likely sexual) over his childhood.

It irked Theodore that those profiles were correct about his childhood discomfort. When he was nearly nine years old, his father left him with a neighbor for a few weeks to go gambling in Vegas. Those three and a half weeks were the most horrible weeks of his life. The neighbor just happened to be a deranged pedophile who craved children since he was 17 years old; now had his chance to fulfill his long-earned euphoria. That man raped Theodore almost two times a day, every day for nearly a month.

The pedophile's favorite fixture was to take Theodore to the park local park, and violate him on the asphalt; which left him bleeding and begging more than usual, which just made the pervert laugh. Theodore has long associated playgrounds with violation and on the other end, satisfaction. Now, after Theodore exhausts his own dirty acts of sex, he neatly spray paints a hopscotch board either under or on his tarnished victims.

Theodore exits out from his internet and temporarily euthanatizes the computer with a press to the big green button. He sets it on his night-stand, and closes his eyes. He envisions Starling begging for mercy while bound, with a crimson hopscotch painted underneath her battered, besmirched body.

* * *

After the rejection of Theodore, Starling went back to her hotel to intensely ponder. She pulled a chair up close to the window gazing out at the beautiful city that enraptured her heart & soul. She kept on a tiny, delighted smile while she thought of what she could possibly do about Hannibal Lecter. Her resources were severely limited to her honed detective skills. _Perhaps I can just let him come to me?_ She thought, immediately dismissing the thought. If she were to let Lecter expose himself, she would be at his mercy.

Starling has learned first-hand that Lecter's patience was sickeningly impressive; which would lead her to remain in the dark for as long as he wished. She could be here for weeks, leading to months, and if he wished, even years. Starling hated to be at anybody's mercy; her pride would never allow for such a thing. She would begin to wonder the streets; going to operas, pleasant restaurants, shops that sold lotions/fragrances or stores that sold expensive wine or fine food.

With all these future provisions in mind, she hadn't thought much about the crushed narcissist or his plotted revenge against her. Starling had no implications that she would need her boxing gloves and/or running shoes for the hellish upcoming future.


	7. Unwelcomed Visitor

**Clarice & Hannibal belong to Thomas Harris.**

**The shadow lurking beast (Theodore) belongs to me. **

**Please review! I love everyone's input.**

Starling's fourth day in Spain had started and still hasn't the slightest clue to where Dr. Lecter was dwelling. She has gone to several shops that house The Doctor's favorite necessities; his wine, cuisine, scents, and has come out empty handed. She has also attended one opera; she came out empty handed once more. Though, with her new found resilience, she wasn't going to give up that easily. She was going to attend another opera tonight, but after tonight she'd be out of money, thus ultimately out of resources.

Starling gazed out her hotel window admiring the Madrid sunrise when a knock came to her door. She tilted her head slightly, gazing at the door for a moment. After another knock came, she quickly padded across the room and opened the door. The one who dare to disturb her during her morning admiration of the sunrise was a young bellboy who held a white envelope in his hand.

"Umm, some guy told me to give this to you." The oblivious bellboy told Starling holding out the envelope.

Starling took the envelope, quickly un-tucking the tongue to expose a large sum of dollar bills resting peacefully in its white belly. The bellboy's brown eyes grew wide in awe; obvious that he has never seen that large amount of cash in reality. Starling shot a quick glance at the teen; her eyes about the same size as his. They gawked at each other for a few seconds, and then starling cleared her esophagus with a discreet cough.

"Who gave this to you? What did he look like? When was he here?" She shot questions at the befuddled teen like a firing squad shoots bullets.

His expression betrayed him as confused and slightly scared. He almost looked like he was about to wet his pants. "_What the hell is this lady's problem? Is she a damn cop or something? I swore I heard questions coming from the police dude, from that show last night…" _He thought, still giving Starling a perplexed look.

Starling impatiently pressed her hand to the bridge of her nose and groaned slightly; this kid had the comprehension skills of a gold fish. She sighed impatiently bringing her hand away from the bridge. "When was the man who gave you this here?" She repeated slowly & clearly as if she were speaking to a five year old.

The adolescents gaze de-mystified as if a light bulb had gone off over his head or the hamster on the wheel was finally running again. "Oh! He came in about ten minutes ago I think. He told me not to bring it up to you until he's been gone for ten minutes." He paused, Starling's gaze turning obviously irritated, so he continued. "I would have brought it up right away but he paid me seventy-five Euros so I did what he told me to do." The boy shrugged, taking a step away from Starling.

Starling cursed under her breath, waving the boy away, re-entering her hotel room. _Dammit! He was right under my feet and I hadn't the slightest clue; just like that confused teen. _She thought with an aggravated sigh, plopping down into her chair by the open window. She gazed out, forgetting all about the large sum of money she held in her tight grasp. She stayed lost in its beautiful all over again; never growing jaded of admiring such celestial beauty.

With great effort she pulled her admiring gaze from the beauty before her, down to the envelope in her hand. She pulled out the money, placing it neatly in her Indian-style folded legs, and withdrew a letter. She set the empty envelope on the window sill and with a roll of the eyes read the brief fragranced letter:

_Greetings Clarice,_

_I bet it's driving you mad with all this waiting and you missing your target. How did you handle your rage when you found out I was under your feet only minutes before you set your eyes upon this note? Do not worry Clarice, I'll be showing myself to you in due time; It will be when you least expect it, of course. Oh, how did you enjoy the opera the other night? Wasn't it lovely? You and you're classy, yet showy emerald dress sure looked ravishing. Yes, Clarice. I was right under your nose once again; I think your hounding skills are a little rusty._

_Ta-Ta,_

_Hannibal Lecter, MD._

_P.S. I figured you could be using some more money. I have enclosed six-hundred and fifty Euros this time; no need to have a suspicious bank convert the money for you now. Can't wait till the opera._

_See you soon,_

_H._

Clarice sat back staring at the letter for a few more moments; letting all this new information sink in. He's been in her presence the whole time and she was oblivious to it. She began to doubt her detective skills, but immediately shooed the doubt away. She wasn't going to let herself down this far in the game; she was going to keep her head high and find Hannibal Lecter.

* * *

Theodore has the plot against Clarice Starling engraved into his mind; he would remember this night for the rest of the night. He took longer than usual with Clarice because He felt that she was one of the biggest wenches to cross his path since the late Vanessa Hopkins. The final piece to his revenge puzzle was to find out where she was staying, and tail her tonight. He had several hotels crossed off his list and only had two more to go; his next two destinations for this morning. After he found where Clarice was calling her home, he had the afternoon to sleep & prepare for his revenge dish.

Theodore crossed "El Rio" off his list, leaving "La Casa Blanca"; Clarice hotel. Theodore knew this is where Clarice has been living for the past few days, but his ego needed to be precise. He entered its double doors, heading to the counter; where a bored brown-eyed, shaggy haired teen sat. The kid glanced at Theodore, but didn't pay much attention. Theodore asked if there was a woman with a fiery cop-like attitude with auburn hair, and the kid gave him a curt nod. Theodore smirked, feeling like the victorious king he is. He exited Clarice's makeshift home, and back to his hotel; which was nearly 10 miles away from Clarice's.

* * *

Clarice had pulled on her newly acquired black dress which looked classy & expensive, but turned out to be on clearance; only costing her a hundred and fifty Euros. She stood barefoot in her bathroom; applying light blush and dark pink lipstick. She preferred a natural look to a trampy one; she didn't want to stand out anyway. She slipped on her Gucci shoes Hannibal had so generously bought for her months ago; she had no idea why she packed them to begin with but was now glad she did.

Clarice gave her hair another run through with the curling brush, grabbed her petite purse and exited her hotel room quickly. The digital alarm clock in her room had read 6:37, which gave her about forty-five minutes to make it before the theatre doors closed. The entertainment center was only about 15 minutes away (taking back ways & what-not), but she figured she give herself wiggle room while walking in high-heels.

She exited the hotel, and made a quick left. The crowds were not as thick as they usually are on work day mornings; Saturdays were time to either be in a restaurant with your family, seeing a movie, or any other entertaining Saturday night festivity. She inhaled the crisp, evening air; greatly enjoying her surroundings. She took another back alleyway she had learned from the manager of "El Café", and followed his directions promptly.

Starling was too busy with her directions to notice that she was being stalked by a beast. Theodore followed Clarice; like how an eagle or any other raptor would circle its prey. He looked in all directions, and then crept down a back alley after Starling. This alley was particularly long and gave the hunter an advantage over his prey; it also had several other cement hallways, which lead to dead ends.

The shadow lurking beast, hid in one of the dead end alley-ways, waiting for the click-clack of Starling's high heels. He peeked around the cement wall, spotting a lonesome starling. He hid back into the shadows until Starling walked past; he lunged at her like a mighty warrior, covering her fiery mouth with a cloth full of chloroform…


	8. Hunting Season

**Hannibal & Clarice belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Please review! I could always use pointers and tips from everyone.**

The steady beat of her heart and the gentle murmur of voices filled Starling's ears. She responded to the talking with a flutter of the eyelids; causing a nearby female voice to exclaim in excitement.

"Doctor! Look! She's finally come to!" An elderly nurse with kind eyes called out in English, approaching Clarice's bedside.

The nurse smiled down at Clarice; her smile was pleasant & it reminded Starling of a grandmother. The nurse pulled out a mini-flashlight to exam her reflexes of her eyes. Clarice winced away from the light. Just that small pull-back caused a crash of pain to surge through her body like a terrifying tsunami. _What the hell happened?_ Clarice thought, struggling to recall recent memories. With a little effort she managed to recall that she was on her way to the opera when a shadow lunged out of the darkness toward her, then blackness. She tried to think harder, but the harder she fought with her mind to recollect, the more blurry the memories got.

Clarice exhaled angrily; desperately wanting to remember anything after the shadow creature lunged at her. With her anger, she was able to pull her bruised body into a sitting position; ignoring all the screams of pain within her body. The nurse's weathered yet kind face was full of awe; she hadn't expected Starling to be sitting up so soon after such a brutal beating. The nurse called to the doctor in hurried Spanish, and he finally came in.

The doctor was obviously from American decent; he had no Spanish accent and is almost pale as Starling. He appeared to be in his late forties to late fifties, with dark green eyes and salt-pepper speckled short brown hair. His face & eyes deceived him as a loveable, truthful man. When he laid eyes on the upright Starling, he arched his brows in interest; he admired her strength already. He approached her bedside, then gave the nurse a "I've got it under control now" look, and she left.

"Miss Starling, I'm Doctor Hayden. You were brought in the Emergency Room last night by ambulance. Do you have any memories of that happening?" He questioned, pushing his thick rimmed spectacles closers to his shining emerald eyes.

Clarice's face was distorted with slight confusion as well as anger; the anger directed to her failing memory. She swallowed harshly, and spoke; her voice was rough and very dry.

"I barely remember anything that happened to me. I do recall getting ready for the opera, and then while I was walking to the Opera, something or someone jumped out from a back alley, placing a strong arm and a cloth to my face. After that, I can't remember anything." Clarice exhaled quickly, leading her to find that even her chest ached.

"What time is it? No, more importantly, what the hell happened to me, Doctor?" She asked, her eyes still containing the same bright fire.

Doctor Hayden smiled at her courage, but his eyes belonged to someone in mourning. He sighed sadly, sitting down in a guest chair next to Clarice's bedside.

"Miss Starling," He began, keeping his kind gaze locked on her. "You were found at 7:00 P.M. in a back alley by a civilian. She checked your pulse, and then immediately called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived here at 7:08 P.M." He cleared his throat and continued. "You were badly beaten, Miss Starling. Whoever did this to you had the intention damaging you forever." He said the last few words so quietly, that Clarice almost didn't hear them.

"Our external exam concluded that your attacker broke four of your ribs, which we have already done surgery to repair. He fractured your wrist, broke your nose, and dislocated your jaw, which we have already fixed as well. He also left bruises all over your body, and had the probable intention of breaking your collar bone, but it refused to break." He smiled weakly at her, indicating that he didn't want to be telling her any of this, but he did his doctorly duty.

"The internal exam showed a concussion, which is now under control but headaches will be persistent for the next few days. Your kidneys will be in pain for a couple days as well, you took a few blows to your abdomen. The exam also indicated you were sexually violated. We performed a rape kit, and administered female contraceptive drugs." He concluded taking his eyes off Clarice. She swore she saw tears ready to disembark from his emerald pools.

Clarice swallowed but found the task difficult; her throat was parched as the Savannah. As if he sensed her discomfort, Doctor Hayden stood and brought her back a cup of water. Starling chugged it down within a few seconds, handing the cup to the sensitive doctor. He gazed down at her with eyes full of sympathy and understanding; but she saw no pity in his exotic emeralds. Which pleased her ego, she hadn't sympathy no matter what the case was.

The Doctor took a look at his chart, and realized he forgot something.

"Oh, and Miss Starling, I've been administering doses of morphine to dull the pain. I'll be upping the dose by a few milliliters to help you get some rest." He explained, and continued. "You'll be needing a good amount of rest for the next few days. Thankfully, with your current progress you should be out of the hospital within a week to a week and a half." He gave her a curt nod, and then closed her blinds to let in only a tiny sliver of sunshine. "Oh, and before I forget, you'll be receiving a permanent cast for your wrist soon. For now the temp, will do its job." He smiled kindly at Clarice, then came back to fiddle with the morphine machine. He went to the doorway, gave her a small smile and wave, shut off the bright over-head light, and exited the room, pulling the door firmly shut.

She managed a weak smile at the doctor upon his exit to show her appreciation for his effort. She began to feel drowsy from the newly adjusted dose of morphine; she sighed sleepily, letting the morphine rock her into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Doctor Lecter received his daily paper at precisely 7:15 A.M. He heard the thud of the metal mail box beside his door, and got up to retrieve it. He grabbed the paper, padding back into his cool kitchen. The second most important head-line caught his attention: "The Hopscotch Rapist Strikes In Madrid!"

_The Hopscotch Rapist's tenth victim was found last night in a dead-end alley around 7:00 last night by a courteous civilian, who wishes to remain un-named. The civilian promptly called the ambulance, perhaps saving the young Clarice Starling's(the victim) life. Ms. Starling was badly battered, violated, and had the signature hopscotch drawn underneath the victim. Sources from the hospital say that she will survive, despite her tragic injuries._

The article proceeded to talk about Starling past and what the police are currently doing. Hannibal threw the paper away, and was out the door. His calm demeanor was now set ablaze like a wildfire. Doctor Lecter's predator instincts were in over drive now; this "Hopscotch Rapist" was going to be hunted down and slaughtered like the offensive creature he was. The rapist's butchering was going to be far more superior than the late Paul Krendler's.


	9. Taking Assessments

**Hannibal & Clarice belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Please review! I appreciate every review I receive.**

Even in her deep sleep Starling could feel eyes locked onto her being. Her instincts screamed at her to awaken, while her body groaned at her to sleep more. Clarice ignored her body; she always would depend on her instincts. She opened her eyes quickly, gazing around the room; she didn't meet a piercing gaze or see a figure that those eyes could possibly belong to. Starling huffed angrily at her instincts. _My nerves are just fried. I just need-_ Her thoughts stopped suddenly. Her ears picked up the sounds of another's breathing; she froze with sheer terror.

_Oh god. Please don't let it be the cowardly monster that attacked me. Please be the doctor. Please be the doctor._ She squeezed her eyes shut; experiencing real terror had caused some memories of last night to come to her. Only a fragment came back, but it was more than enough: A built, abnormally tall masked man had placed duck tape over her mouth. After he taped her mouth shut, he began his true reign of terror; he drew back a large hand and administered a swift, hard punch to her toned abdomen. After the hit, everything went black again.

Clarice felt a warm tear descend down her flushed cheek into her hospital gown. She felt so childish, so _insecure,_ but neither she nor her ego really seemed to care; she just wanted the shit to stop.

"I want the fear to stop." She murmured into the darkness, letting the dam holding her tears, break.

He cocked his head to the left, recognizing the bitter-sweet scent of tears coming from the other side of the room. His legs had acquired a mind of their mind and he was at Clarice's bedside in three long strides. He placed a cool hand on her warm cheek, wiping away the tears. He expected her to open her eyes, but she kept them closed as if she had fallen back asleep.

"Clarice, what happened to you?" His metallic voice asked, pulling his hand away.

Clarice kept her eyes closed, but pure relief swept over her. She knew it was Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter, but she had no fear of him; especially after that extraordinary night at the lake house.

"Doctor. I'm surprised. I expected this cat and mouse game to continue for much longer. If me being in distress would have caused you to come so soon, I would have tried to lure you out days ago." She smiled in the darkness, basically ignoring his question. "Besides, why are you here? Some of those doctors are bound to recognize you." Clarice kept her eyes closed, awaiting his answer.

_Her sharp wit or questionnaire hasn't been dulled by the attack, good._ Dr. Lecter thought, watching Clarice. He was debating whether to be silent or to converse with Clarice. His desire to have a conversation with Starling overrode his need to play the silent game. "I read about your predicament in the newspaper. Why a journalist would expose a rape victim to the public, I haven't the answer to. As for the doctors and nurses, they won't be recognizing me. I've changed my appearance quite a bit since we were last face to face.

"Now, I've told you what you wished to know. It's now your duty of equivalent exchange to give me the information I wish to receive, Clarice. Just like the good old days down in the dungeon." He flashed his white teeth in a form of a smile, recalling the dungeon days.

"You read what happened in the paper, Doctor. I cannot remember what happened last night, so I have no new information to give." Clarice explained, finally opening her eyes.

She could only see the outline of Dr. Lecter. She was slightly interested in seeing the appearance tweaks he was speaking of. She furrowed her brow into the abyss, pulling herself up into a sitting position; her kidneys scream in agony. Starling swore under her breath, clutching her abdomen, doubling over.

Hannibal's eyes widened a bit, cocking his head in interest. "What kind of pain are you experiencing?" He asked, falling into his role as a medical practitioner.

Clarice clenched her teeth, now feeling the discomfort of her damaged but healing jaw. "Goddamn that bastard." She said quietly, still hugging her mid-section.

"It feels like a period cramp on fucking steroids." She explained, not caring that she was coming off as vulgar to the doctor, but she didn't seem to care about impressions. She blinked, realizing that only another woman would understand the distress she expressed.

"Scratch that. It just feels like my kidneys are being squeezed by a hand caught on fire." She attempted to describe her agony, but she felt her description was lacking. "Doctor Hayden suggested that I took a few blows to the abdomen and I'll be in pain for a few days." She added to her explanation.

Hannibal stayed quiet for a moment, lost in his maze of a mind. "Are you experiencing trouble or pain while urinating? Or is there blood present?" He questioned, sounding like your normal everyday family doctor.

"I have no idea. I haven't used the restroom since last night. Or I have and I just don't remember doing so." She shrugged her shoulders, now feeling to urge to go pee; also regretting that cup of water she drank earlier.

"Well, I'll be dammed. I have to pee now." She admitted, curiously looking up at Hannibal, wanting to see if he had any sort of reaction to her statement.

Slowly, but surely Starling worked her bruised body to the edge of the bed. She swung her legs off the side; the bed was raised high enough for her legs to dangling a few inches from the floor. She could feel the cold radiating from the floor below, but as she stepped down she welcomed the chilled floor. She looked at Hannibal, who was on the opposite side of the bed and asked him to turn the lights on so she wouldn't be fumbling around in the darkness.

Instead of turning the light, Hannibal come to her side of the bed, and opened the blinds on the windows halfway. Hannibal stood where the light didn't touch; she still wasn't able to see the changes to his appearance. _You did that on purpose._ She thought, throwing a mock glare at Hannibal. She plucked out the IV in her arm and handed it to Hannibal. Without hesitation, she made her way into the bathroom.

She finished her business quickly for a battered person, and exited turning the light out, while wiping her wet hands on her tacky hospital gown. "That was one of the most unpleasant peeing experiences of my life." She said miserably, climbing back into her bed.

Hannibal came back to her bedside, replacing the IV into her arm. He retreated back to the blinds and closed them, letting the darkness fill the tiny private room. "Was there any blood?" He asked, back at her bedside.

Starling exhaled a tired sigh; just that little trip to the bathroom wore her out like a three mile jog normally would have. "There wasn't any blood. It was an unpleasant burning sensation that turned into pain. Like I said, a very uncomfortable experience." She stifled a yawn, re-closing her eyes.

The Doctor assessed her description, concluding that her kidneys were filtering properly, just sore from the beating. The coward most likely delivered a few kicks to her genitals, causing the burning pain. Hannibal's jaw clenched; he was absolutely disgusted with beasts like "The Hopscotch Rapist". He exhaled sharply, much like how an enraged bull would. He felt his unusually calm heart-rate speed up a few beats. Oh if Clarice could only see how _mad_ she drove Dr. Lecter.

He calmed himself, hearing light snoring coming from the bed alongside him. A small smile was present (unknown to him) on his face, as he gazed down at his battered lamb.

"Hasta luego, Clarice." He said softly, with a brisk touch to her un-kept auburn hair, and a swift kiss to her soft forehead. Hannibal exited her hospital room unseen by nurses or doctors; he slipped past them like an elegant shadow, ready to start his hunt for a rude beast.


	10. Homecoming

**Hannibal & Clarice belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Review, review, & review some more, por favor! **

**Thank you all for the support!**

Clarice's fifth day in the hospital began hours ago, but Clarice remained entranced in a dream healing sleep. Doctor Hayden poked his head into Clarice's room, laughing to himself when he saw she was still asleep. It was almost 11:00, and she didn't do be awoken for further prognosis.

"Good morning Starling! You can't sleep your day away. We need to see how well you've healed." He stated, opening up the blinds, letting the shimmering morning sun.

Clarice groaned, hiding her eyes away from the morning under her blanket. "Ray! Close the damn blinds. I haven't finished my beauty sleep." She complained.

Their interactions showed that they had gone past the regular doctor-patient relationship, toward a playful friendship. The past few nights they have discovered a lot about one another. The doctor opened up first to her, explaining that he had been born in the Washington D.C. area, over fifty-five years ago. He trained to be a doctor there; then he met his wife Maria. She was a full-blooded Latino woman, who was born and raised in Mexico, but was curious about her ancestor's homeland, Spain. His love for Maria also caused his interest in Spain and Spanish culture.

For years Dr. Hayden and his wife planned on moving to Spain, but when they had children, they decided to wait until they were grown up to move out of the country. After four children and they had all grown up, they moved to Spain. Two of their boys followed them; both of them doctors working at nearby hospitals. Ray and Maria had two other boys back in the states, one was a chemist and the other was an FBI agent.

Eventually, Clarice opened up to the Dr. Hayden; she told him about her childhood, the lambs, her father's death, everything relating to her childhood. She told him about her career with the FBI, all the up and downs. The only thing she omitted from their conversations was Hannibal Lecter. She told Dr. Hayden that Hannibal helped with the capture of Buffalo Bill, but nothing more; some things are best left secret.

Doctor Hayden checked her stats, then removed the IV cord attached to her right vein. "You are almost ready to leave, Well actually you can leave today if you wish. Your bruises are beginning to diminish, you are able to stand and walk without too much pain. But, when you return to wherever you are staying, you will still need plenty of rest. I'd say about eight to ten hours a sleep per night, for the next week. After, some more healing you should be as good as new. Well, besides the cast. You won't be getting that off for another six weeks, sorry." He gave her prognosis with a smile.

"You are admirably strong, Miss Starling. My sons could learn a thing or two from you." He admitted with a chuckle, and exited the room to check on his other patients.

Strangely, Starling felt quite lucky. She couldn't have asked for a better doctor, or hospital; everyone was so friendly and makes the hospital feel homey. Clarice's mind wondered back to Hannibal; she hasn't seen him sense her first day here. Though, she was sure he's been around; she's been receiving various assortments of exotic flowers from all over the world. They all happened to fit into a beautifully crafted vase.

She sighed, gazing at the flowers on her side table. _Would you really be able to turn him over to the FBI? Just so they can lock him in a cell again or give him a lethal dose of potassium hydroxide? _She questioned herself. _What was the real reason I came to Spain?_ She wondered, though deep down she knew the answer; letting the police take Doctor Lecter would be like destroying the last pillar holding up a building. All her thoughts of Lecter suddenly left her longing for his presence.

Starling pushed away all her thoughts and feelings to the back of her mind, getting out of bed. She dragged the guest chair from the left side of her bed to the window. She sat on the chair, with her knees pulled up to her chest, so she had a makeshift pillow for her head. She laid her head on her knees, admiring the beauty before her.

* * *

Hannibal has been doing relentless hunting and research on the "Hopscotch Rapist". Though he doesn't see psychology as a science, it still had its quirks & uses; he developed a highly detailed profile (far superior to the FBI's current profile), which helped Lecter to narrow down the search of his target. Despite, Hannibal's appearance he had developed a knack for using computers. He looked at the FBI's suspect list for the rapes. One of the men seemed to pop out of the list of suspects; Theodore Daylee.

Hannibal remembered his distasteful flirting tactics more than anything. Hannibal hopped on Theodore's trail faster than a bloodhound hops on a rabbit's trail. Hannibal quickly learned everything about his quarry; schedule in Spain and in America, past, habits, obsessions, fears, current location, birthday, simply everything.

Two days ago, while Theodore was out to his regular hour and a half lunch, Hannibal gained access to his quarry's room and laptop. Hannibal pulled the laptop off the nightstand, and gained access to all the files of Theodore's computer. Hannibal destroyed all the firewalls and passwords with an over-ride code, giving him admission to those pesky encrypted picture files. He found all the pictures of the rape victims, including Starling.

Hannibal resisted the urge to destroy the miss-used laptop, inserted a compact disk, and copied all of Theodore's picture files onto the blank disk. After the disk was ejected, Hannibal wiped down the computer with a cloth to destroy the finger prints he left behind. He left Theodore's room, thinking about the approaching day of slaughter.

* * *

Clarice had fallen asleep while admiring the late-morning Madrid beauty. Doctor Hayden entered her room with a chuckle followed by another man. "Clarice! You weren't supposed to fall asleep again." Still chuckling, mostly to himself, he gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. Clarice's eyes fluttered awake, immediately stretching and yawning.

"You have a visitor, Clarice. Dr. Cruz has come to help you with you things and take you home." Dr. Hayden practically exclaimed, his eyes were shimmering with emerald happiness.

Clarice looked past Dr. Hayden to "Dr. Cruz". _What the hell are you up to Doctor lecter?_ She thought, standing up from the chair, not taking her gape off Dr. Cruz.

"Ahh. Dr. Cruz. It's been awhile! How have you been lately?" Her eyes narrowed curiously, with a smirk creeping on her lips.

His appearance changed quite a lot since the last time they've seen one another in full light. His skin had gotten a tone or two darker thanks to the Spanish sunlight. His face was more filled out, making him look a few years younger. Anybody meeting him for the first time would never associate him with Hannibal the Cannibal.

Doctor Hayden interrupted her from her thoughts, by handing her a bag; her Gucci shoes were in good condition. She smiled at Doctor Hayden and gave him a quick hug. They said their good-byes, and Dr. Hayden invited Clarice to dinner at his room, sometime soon. He gave her his number and address. Dr. Hayden nodded his head as a goodbye to Dr. Cruz, exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

Hannibal's observant gaze lay on the bag, then to Clarice's face; he was smiling. She furrowed her brow and frowned in response to his smile. "What are you all smiley about?" She asked, thought she already knew the answer.

"You kept the shoes." He said, watching her; she was trying not to smile.

She turned her back to him, grabbing a pair of jeans off the bed and pulling them on. After prancing around in a flimsy gown for almost a week, it was a relief to not feel the breeze between the knees. She glanced over her shoulder, Hannibal was standing at the window; she hadn't even heard him move. He could appear right behind her, and she wouldn't have heard a thing. She shivered at the thought, stripping off her hospital gown.

She quickly dressed in a bra and black T-shirt when it hit her; She was going to go stay with Hannibal Lecter for who knows how long. She shivered again, not having the slightest clue why until she looked over her shoulder again; Dr. Lecter was standing inches away from her.

"Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with you? I just got jumped the other night and you creep on me like a cat stalking a mouse." She narrowed her eyes back at the doctor, showing she was being serious.

Hannibal took a few steps away from Clarice, looking over her at the flowers sitting on her table.

"Are you going to keep those?" He asked, motioning toward the flowers.

"Sure. I'm not just going to let the nurse's throw them out. Never throw away natural beauty." She said, reaching for the vase, when a hand firmly, but gently grabbed a hold of her elbow.

"You shouldn't be carrying anything with that broken wrist of yours. I'll carry it for you." Hannibal calmly demanded, picking up the full vase, heading for the door.

Clarice arched a brow, slipping on her shoes. She followed Hannibal out the door, waving goodbye to the nurses who kept her company when her memory had returned. She brought her attention back to the man in front of her, thinking about what the future had in store for her now.


	11. Dark Passion

**Hannibal & Clarice belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Sorry the late update. I've had finals and whatnot. Though I'm sure this chapter will make up for it. ;D**

The day of slaughter has arisen; Theodore remained quite ignorant to the fact that today was his day of rest. Theodore was going drop into Hannibal's unforgiving clutches, just like how candy drops into a child's grasp. By further observation, Hannibal had came to the conclusion that Theodore has most likely chosen his next rape victim; a petite brunette who goes by the name Silvia. Silvia had denied a date with the twisted Theodore, thus causing his rage to build up and his plan for her humiliation to surface.

Hannibal used this information to his advantage: Hannibal dropped off a letter from "Silvia" to Theodore's hotel room. The letter explained that Silvia was sorry for denying him early, and would love to invite him over and cook him a lovely dinner. Little did Theodore know that he was the one on the menu.

Hannibal estimated the beast's arrival to his home sometime around 6:30 P.M, but Hannibal figured Theodore wasn't the one to follow protocol and would either arrive later than the stated time or earlier. It was still quite early in the morning, which left him with time to sleep, but this evening's festivities left him feeling energized and quite excited. He exited his bedroom to check on Clarice, who chose a guest room closest to his own dwelling.

Clarice's activities were limited due to her injuries still ailing her, she rarely left the bedroom; most of the time she was sleeping or reading the paper Hannibal leaves in her room. Hannibal brings her three-meals every day, but her appetite was still lacking. The meal she can only seem to finish is lunch; only downing half of dinner and breakfast.

Hannibal knocked gently, though he figured she'd be sleeping, she still needed to be notified that she had company entering her room. He opened the door, gently, resting his eyes on Clarice sitting at the window, watching the sunrise.

"Good morning, Dr. Lecter." She greeted him, not taking her eyes off the view.

"Buenos días, Clarice. Sleep well?" He asked, closing the door behind him. He came in a few feet, so he could look at the window for a moment, then put his gaze back on Clarice.

"For the most part. I should be sleeping still, but I couldn't bare to go another day without enjoying this splendid sunrise." She smiled, looking up at Dr. Lecter.

They kept silent, their eyes were doing all the speaking for them; speaking all the unspoken words they didn't dare say out loud. A shudder of desire swept over Clarice like a massive tidal wave. _How much longer will you deny your infatuation and desire for him? _A voice questioned. She pushed the thought away, distracting herself with the buildings bathing themselves in sunlight. Hannibal saw the shudder, but wasn't quite sure of the cause.

"Clarice, are you hungry?" He asked; his voice betraying his curiosity.

_She's hungry for you! _That voice snickered; Clarice felt her face flush. She's no stranger to lust but this feeling backed by love and dare she admit it, respect; making it harder to ignore. She closed her eyes tightly, while biting her tongue. She was trying with all her might to ignoring the overpowering feeling in the pit of her abdomen.

Clarice was so preoccupied with these emotions, that she had forgotten Dr. Lecter's question. Hannibal arched a brow at Clarice's sudden change in behavior. He slunk closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Clarice? What seems to be the trouble?" He cocked his head slightly.

She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling his hand resting on her shoulder. _Dammit, Dr. Lecter! Just feel free to initiate contact and making it more difficult to ignore the lust knocking at my door!_ She angrily thought, looking up at Hannibal. Hannibal's eyes narrowed with fulfilled curiosity, his lips curled into a lusty smirk; her eyes were shining with raw desire, they spoke everything.

"I think I figured out you ailment." Dr. Lecter said, with a quick chuckle.

_There's no denying it now! Go in for the kill!_ The voice urged. Clarice knew she's been denying Hannibal and herself, for far too long; it was time to open up her heart and mind to Hannibal The Cannibal.

"You win." Clarice mumbled, far too low her even herself to hear.

Clarice was on her feet within a quick second, mauling Hannibal Lecter the next, like a hungry lioness. The fumbling and murrs of delight began, followed by the closing of the drapes; leaving them to explore dark fiery passion in the depths of a sea of sheets.

Hannibal stretched, exhaling a content sigh. He rolled over onto his side to face Clarice; her back was to him and soft snoring was being murmured. A faint smile pranced upon his lips as he softly kissed her exposed shoulder. Hannibal rolled off the mattress, dressing himself undergarments and a robe. He exited Clarice's room, to take a shower, a fresh change of clothes and to make breakfast.

Nearly 45 minutes after Hannibal's leave, Clarice began to stir as the smell of food caressed her nose. Her stomach growled a warning as she sat up and yawned. She grouped around in the darkness for a shirt, or some sort of cover. Being in pure darkness brought back memories of her attack; on setting a pain attack.

Clarice clutched her chest, gasping for a breath, as tears of fear dampened her cheeks. "No. No. No." She gasped, fumbling for the light ib the end table. She heard the reassuring click, and the light banished the haunting darkness. She pulled the covers around her quivering body, still feeling trapped and powerless.

"Will I always bee afraid of the dark, now? She quietly asked herself, gasping for oxygen still under the panic attack. She curled into a ball, trying to stop the feeling of being powerless and the crying, but they seemed they just wouldn't stop.

Hannibal entered Clarice's room, his brow furrowed; he heard her crying as he climbed the stairs to bring her down to breakfast. He crawled in beside her, pulled her to his chest, and stroking his auburn hair. "What's wrong Clarice?" He asked, wiping away a stray tear.

Clarice attempted to snuggle close to the doctor, starting to feel safe again. "Being in the darkness brought back memories of the attack." She quietly explained; calming more as she listened to the slow beats of his heart, as if they were a lullaby.

"You will most likely need a prescription for your panic attacks if you wish you attain some sense of normalcy in your life." He exhaled resting his chin on the top of her head.

The light illuminated Hannibal Lecter's eyes, showing a great fire of animosity dancing within their depths. _Twsited teddy, you are going to regret the things you've done. You will regret the very day of your birth. _Hannibal thought, as he protectively held Clarice to himself; The big, bad wolf guarding his precious, frightened lamb.


	12. Personal Agenda

**Hannibal & Clarice belong to the astonishing Thomas Harris. **

**Theodore is my character.**

**Late update, shame on me. **

**Please review. I love your support and suggestions.**

"Your ego has brought you to your own personal hell, Theodore." A faint voice snickered. The blackness still shrouded him, like an imminent gray raincloud. The sedative had an unrelenting grip on his conscious state, it still attempted to delve him back into the haunting darkness where his ignorant father whispered obscenities toward the boy.

"No." He mumbled trying to pry his eyes open but he plunged back into the abysmal darkness.

Hannibal snickered, letting the sedative have its fun with Theodore's will power & ego. His turn about come around in due time, he was in no hurry. Though Clarice may wonder where he had wandered off to, but then again she may not care. With her unpredictable nature, he may never know.

Hannibal watched Theodore struggle once again against the heavy sedative he administered almost an hour ago. The dosing was correct; he had checked it multiple times. Theodore's determination to fight against the sedative was the culprit; he may be strong physically, but mentally he lacked. Finally, after several more minutes Theodore's sea foam eyes fluttered open.

"Where am I?" He blinked at the bright light, trying to adapt to his current & final set of surroundings; talking to himself.

"You're in your death chamber." Hannibal said with a grin.

Theodore froze with fear. He hadn't the slightest idea someone else was in the room with him. Theodore attempted to abruptly sit up, but found he was strapped to a surgical table.

"What the fuck? Is this some sort of sick joke? What the fuck is going on?" Theodore screeched, feeling fear laced with adrenaline fight off the rest of the downer.

Hannibal shook his head in disgust, now hovering over Theodore. "Tsk, tsk. Theodore. Such language is vulgar and rude. I hate rude." He spat, delving a scalpel into his midsection.

Theodore howled in pain, spatting more obscenities at the peeved cannibal. In response to Theodore's disgusting words, Hannibal shot a glare that would stop a famished carnivore in its tracks. Theodore swore he locked eyes with Satan himself. Theodore wanted to scream, but the scream itself was too fearful to be released.

"Now that you have calmed down, I will be removing your liver and spleen so I can have a divine dinner tomorrow. You may scream all you want; no one will hear you, but me." He exposed his white teeth in a wicked grin, removing the scalpel from its resting spot.

Hannibal attached Theodore to a Saline drip, to keep him from passing out from the removal of his organs. Theodore clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to see his own organs cut out of his body; his ego would not allow that.

Hannibal made a shallow cut from the second rib down to the top of the belly button. At this moment, the pain was barely bearable for Terrible Teddy; he knew it would just get worse. Hannibal made the cut deeper, now able to see the ivory ribs shining through all the crimson. Hannibal dabbed through the blood with a sponge, able to make out the various organs hiding behind their ivory barrier. Hannibal incised a horizontal line from each of Theodore's sides; attempting to open up the rapist like you would in an autopsy. He mimicked the incision above the ribs; unveiling a vast valley of beating organs.

Hannibal fixated on Theodore beating heart. Its pace was accelerated from the fear and adrenaline his body was producing. He then looked to Theodore's face. It was etched with great pain, sorrow and remorse. No matter how "sad" Theo looked, his sins would never be forgiven. Hannibal soaked up the blood that began to flow out of his body onto the table. Without any indication, Hannibal cracked open Theodore's ribs; now fully exposing the vulnerable organs.

Theodore screamed in agony, tears now streaming down his pale face. Hannibal continued his conquest to remove the liver and spleen as if the scream had never been bellowed. With one hand, Hannibal mopped up more blood to prevent it from touching the basement floor, and with the other began extracting the pulsing liver.

Dr. Lecter gently placed the liver into a silver dish, as if he was handling a fragile infant. Returning his attention to the smorgasbord in front of him, he began extracting the spleen. Within half a minute, the spleen was resting in a dish next to the liver. Hannibal soaked up more of the blood, put the ribs back into place, and then closed the rapist up. Theodore couldn't believe he was alive, during the whole half hour procedure he was constantly praying that he would bleed out; but he did not. Dr. Lecter wouldn't let him get off that easy.

"Phase one of your agonizing downfall is now complete. Phase two will began shortly as the BZ gas takes effect. In order for the BZ gas to work for my entertainment, your straps need to be removed. Wouldn't it be delightful that in a hallucinogenic state of fear your removed your own eyeball?" Hannibal chuckled at the thought, loosening the restraints on Theodore's wrists. Theodore attempted to move, but his broken ribs hurt far too much. He lay obediently like a scolded dog, as Hannibal removed all the straps. Theodore glared at Hannibal as he ascended up the step ladder to the trap door above, his precious organs in hand.

Hannibal exited the trap door that lay in front of his desk in his grand study. He inhaled, then turned to a chair in the corner; there sat Clarice reading one of his novels.

"Dr. Lecter. I see personal revenge is always a must for you." She said, keeping her gaze on the book.

"You know he deserved what was dished out to him. He's an egotistical serial rapist who needed to be stopped." Hannibal shrugged, heading toward the kitchen. He half expected Clarice to follow, but she did not.

He peeked back into the study; she was still reading her book. Hannibal glanced at the clock; it was only 7:30. Enough time to prepare a late dinner for himself. He would gladly share his meal with Clarice but, she didn't share his dining interests. He silently began his meal preparation, thinking of the suffering man downstairs.

Hannibal prepared his meal within a two hour time period, oh but how time flies when you're having fun. He sat at the kitchen table, accompanied by Clarice who was consuming a crass "dinner" of child's cereal. He attempted to offer to make her a more appeasing meal, but she denied his gracious offer. Hannibal scoffed at her meal, but she returned the scoff with a gaze saying she wasn't in the mood for his antics. They ate in silence, Clarice finishing first, returning to her book in the study.

Hannibal cleaned up his mess, entering into the study. He turned on a large plasma screen TV that lay across the room from his desk. He smiled wickedly; the TV was hooked up to a camera set up downstairs, so Hannibal can view Theodore's downfall without exposing himself to the BZ gas.

Soon, Theodore will become irritated and begin to hallucinate. What Theodore will do to himself, goes on with uncertainty. But from the rumors surrounding BZ gas, death wasn't merciful.

**Notes; BZ gas idea came from an episode of NCIS. BZ Gas is a chemical weapon.  
****As for the symptoms and other information about the deadly gas, I suggest a search engine to ease your curiosity.  
**


	13. Feel No Evil

**Clarice & Hannibal belong to Thomas Harris.**

**Note: Part of this chapter is written in first person (Theodore's POV) to make it more interesting.**

**Content of this chapter is a bit gruesome, hence the rating M.**

**Please review! :D I love your pointers and praise.**

_Goddamn that man. Who the hell was he anyway? What the fuck did I do to him?_ The thoughts scurry around in my mind full of a painful fog. As long I keep still the pain isn't so bad. _BZ gas? Is that what that sadistic fucker said? Isn't that stuff illegal? _More thoughts mingled and then dispersed like a flock of pigeons. I sighed, regretting the action as an agonizing fire of pain swept over me. I continued to curse in my consciousness, until I heard a voice emerge from one of the corners.

Fear overriding the pain, I sat up. "Hello?" I greeted, scanning the room. Empty.

_Okay, calm down. He's probably just messing with my head. Just to shake me up a bit more._ I eased myself, closing my eyes. I re-opened them, my torturer standing back in front of me again. I screeched in horror. _Where did he come from? _I wondered, getting off the surgical table. I buckled over in pain; it reduced me to a trembling ball on the floor. I looked up at my attacker; he had changed. He no longer looked human, he now truly resembled the devil.

His ebony horns spouted from his cranium, as his piercing maroon eyes looked into the depths of my soul; he saw all the sins I have committed.

"No! Get away from me!" I warned, scooting away from the demon.

The demon chuckled, making the whole basement shake. He shook his head in disgust, as I lay clutched my aching ribs. I cursed at him, and then suddenly he was gone again. My face twisted into confusion. _What the hell?_ I thought, pulling myself upright, leaning against a wall. I breathed heavily, clutched my chest. My heart beat was erratic; I wasn't sure how much longer I'd survive.

"Eat it. Rip it out and eat it." A voice demanded. "If you don't, he will come back and do much worse to you." It explained.

"What? Eat what?" I questioned, still clutching my chest.

"Eat your eyes. Without eyes you won't have to see the demon. See no evil, Theodore." More muttered encouragement.

_That's crazy. Isn't it? Without my eyes, he can't see my dammed soul. He can't look at it anymore. No more eyes. See. No. Evil. Doooon't seeee it! _I contemplated, starting to rock myself back and forth slowly, the effect of the BZ gas becoming apparent.

My hand plunged into my left eye socket as if it had a mind of its own; I could hear my eye screaming for mercy. Or was that me? A loud popping sound filled my ears. "SEE NO FUCKING EVIL!" I shouted, throwing the eyes down on the concrete crushing is with my fist.

"HAHA! I won't see you anymore. you FUCKER!" I laughed hysterically, forcibly pulling out the other sea foam optic. The eye pleaded for its meaningless life.

"You damn eye. You were on the devil's side this whole time. Perish you traitor!" I bought a powerful fist down several times on the screaming eye.

I chuckled, feeling victorious. _See noooo evil. I win. I win. I wiiinn. _I thought, a large smile on my face as a rocked from side to side.

"You're too late Theodore. Now, the devil is in your heart. You didn't remove your eyes enough. Now you FEEL evil." It scolded.

"No!" I shouted, suddenly standing. My ribs were aching, but I barely felt the pain anymore. "He can't win!" I screeched beginning to scratch at my chest.

My nails were piercing the flesh; I felt the burning sensation a scratch usually creates. I dug my nails harder into the flesh, starting to feel the warm blood trickle down my wrist. I began laughing manically, digging my nails much harder into the raw flesh.

"You can't win you motherfucker!" I taunted, pulling my arm back and plugging my right hand into my chest cavity. I inserted my left into the whole that man had so graciously created. I pulled my ribs apart, finally resting my hands around my erratic heart. I giggled like a schoolgirl as I fondled the pulsing organ. With great force, I pulled as hard as I could and there it lay, still alive in my hand.

"I win! I win! I win! I WIN!" I gloated, squeezing the organ with all my might; everything goes black.

* * *

Clarice looks at Hannibal with bewilderment. "What the fuck was that?"

Hannibal couldn't have predicted such a unique outcome. He nodded at the television screen, and then turned it off. "That my dear, was the power of BZ gas at its finest." Wickedness played on Hannibal's expression.

Clarice couldn't believe what she had saw. What madness could drive a human being to commit such a suicidal act? She suddenly felt very alone and powerless; what kind of monster was she tangoing with? She loved Hannibal Lecter, and a part was glad that bastard was dead. She was afraid of the dark now because of that carcass. _Hannibal didn't make him pull out his own eyes and heart. It was a kamikaze his mind created. Hannibal may be a monster, but he's your monster._ That familiar voice reassured her. She shot a grateful glance at Hannibal; he returned it with a wink and then descended downstairs.

Hannibal cleaned up the ugly mess within an hour. He had the body all prepped for its drop off; the bottom of a nearby lake. He would like to stay in Spain for awhile long and would not appreciate it if the body was found too soon.

The body was disposed of within an hour; oh how quickly he worked. He made it home just in time to receive Clarice's "gifts" of graditude.


End file.
